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lyrics

Newborn shift
Crevasse born high
Little hands guide the mountains
on which they stand
Little eyes wide to match the way we
glide on silly words
to love all pure and wrong

Fucked oblong
Rhetoric was spent on
faking love
The worst in
our parents to speak of

There’s no-one to right align
A wet nurse:
Much to confined to extend kisses
to the one with its face all wrong

Something’s wrong with her eyes
and something’s wrong with the way she holds your look

But mind your daughter
She can’t seem to walk along with the pace we’re mouthing order
Seems like her crawl’s in bad taste
Never hearing what you say
Never hearing what you say

Teething kids
in their cribs

Mother,
where is me?

credits

from You'd Rather Do Acid than Go to Florida, released June 27, 2017

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all rights reserved

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about

BB Bergstrom Ottawa, Ontario

A restless space cadet with a bruised-blues muse and no business being

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